


Are You Still Hurtin'?

by ArgonSwan



Category: South Park
Genre: Bonding over trauma yay, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I am super cereal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss, M/M, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Suicide, Underage Substance Use, buckleup kiddos, but there's fluff at the end, butters to the rescue, kenny's finally gone off the deep end, rt though this is really dark, so it's okay...right?, this got reeeeeeeeeal dark, why do I do this to my poor boys, woooooooooooo boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-11-29 01:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18216191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgonSwan/pseuds/ArgonSwan
Summary: Even the easy-going Butters can’t remain unfazed by the train wreck that is Kenny McCormick.





	1. Click. Click. Bang.

**Author's Note:**

> *I am so sorry I keep going back and making edits to the chapters I've already posted instead of actually finishing writing the next bits*
> 
> ~ ~ ~ Thank you for your patience ~ ~ ~
> 
>  
> 
> For some reason my writing has a tendency to center itself around my characters bonding over trauma (projecting much, eh?).
> 
> My previous fic (noncannon to this one) featuring these two was them bonding over Butters' trauma.  
> This one is Kenny's.  
> And Kenny is pretty fucked up.
> 
> Enjoy :)

“They always forget. Everyone always forgets.”

_Bang._


	2. Repeat.

Butters blinked.

The pale blonde boy tilted his head, inspecting the worn, splintery door in front of him with slightly furrowed brows.

 _Kenny’s room._  He was standing outside the door to Kenny’s room.

Butters blinked again rapidly, wincing slightly at the sudden movement. His head hurt.

He glanced down at the manila folder in his hand. His brow furrowed deeper, the gears in his brain turning arduously slow.

 _School._  Kenny had been absent from school for over a week. Butters was here to drop off the schoolwork he had missed.

Butters shifted uneasily, an inexplicable sense of apprehension stalling his next action. He shook his head in an attempt to disperse the vague cloudiness obfuscating his thoughts; but the moment he tried to grasp whatever had been nipping at the corners of his consciousness, it slipped back into the haze.

_Kenny. School. Papers._

Butters shook his head again, baby-blue eyes flicking back and forth from the folder in his hand to the door in front of him. He could almost hear the uncooperative bits of his sluggish brain rattling in his skull.

Clearing his throat, Butters tentatively called out, “K-Kenny?”

He waited, listening.

No response.

“Kenny…?” Butters called out again, this time a little louder.

His inquiry was, once again, rewarded with silence.

Butters reached out and opened the door.

 

The room was empty.

 

It had been a while since Butters had been in Kenny’s room. The walls were blank except for a few faded and torn posters featuring nondescript busty models. Per usual, the rickety bed was unmade; thin, ratty sheets scrumped up at the end. The only other piece of furniture was a dilapidated dresser: drawers half open, a few well-worn clothes haphazardly tossed in.

Butters sighed and stepped back, closing the door behind him.

Back in the dimly lit hallway, the Butters scanned his surroundings. Kenny’s older brother was long gone, having disappeared sometime when they were in 8th grade. When confronted about it, Kenny had shrugged it off, stating that he was glad he at least didn’t have to share a room anymore. But Butters had seen the twinge of pain in his eyes, despite his friend's nonchalant smile. He frowned at the memory, letting his gaze travel to a door at the end of the hallway. The pale pink paint was cracking, peeling away in places to reveal the dull brown wood underneath. Butters slowly walked over, smiling faintly at the faded butterfly decals plastered haphazardly to the surface as he came to a stop in front of the door.

He froze. The carpet squished oddly under his feet. Butters slowly looked down. An uneven semicircle of scarlet was spreading out from under the door. His stomach dropped.

“Kenny?”

No reply disrupted the unsettling stillness of the hallway.

Butters reached out a pale hand. As soon as his skin met the cool metal of the tarnished doorknob, a sudden sickening sense of déjà-vu swept over him.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

The he swayed slightly, immensely unnerved by this sensation. Something was wrong. Butters’ head throbbed as he struggled fruitlessly against the fog that had once again engulfed his head, swamping his train of thought. There was something he was missing. Something important.

He gulped, stomach churning. Butters’ grip tightened on the metal knob.

 _The door. Kenny._  He needed to open the door and find Kenny.

Butters took a deep breath to steady himself, letting the nausea pass. He slowly turned the handle.

 

His eyes widened and his already pale face went pallid.

 

The air was so pungent Butters could almost taste the coppery tang as soon as he stepped into the room.

Blood.

So much blood.

Too much blood. Way too much blood to have come solely from one seventeen-year-old’s body. Picturing Kenny’s slender, lanky six-foot frame, Butters shook his head incredulously.

A large portion of the carpet was stained a deep red. The boy felt a bit perturbed to acknowledge that his first thought was that the now uniformly stained carpet was almost an upgrade from the previous patchwork of mystery splotches that had accumulated over the years.

The already grimy walls were slick and dripping; coated with thick smears of red mottled with what looked like coagulated blood and bits of flesh, obscuring most of the hand-drawn butterflies peppering the room. There were even a few thin but nauseating ribbons of crimson splattering the ceiling. Butters balked.

Liquor bottles in various stages of depletion were scattered haphazardly across the room. Butters briefly glanced over at Kenny’s token orange parka flung over the back of the desk chair. A puddle of vomit lay splattered next to an overturned wastebasket. Apparently Kenny hadn’t quite made it there in time and clearly didn’t care enough to do anything about the sour-smelling aftermath. Wrinkling his nose, Butters – slightly against his better judgement – stepped fully into the room, gingerly letting the door come to a close behind him with a deafening click.

And there was Kenny himself sprawled against the small, run-down bed, seemingly unfazed by the carnage surrounding him. His usually effortlessly tousled golden-blonde hair was matted and stuck in erratic clumps to his sweaty forehead. Despite all of the gore strewn around the room, Kenny himself was oddly spotless, his bare chest devoid of any of the surrounding filth. Butters couldn’t tear his eyes away, like how everyone’s gaze involuntary drifts to the wreckage of a car crash burning on the side of a highway. Enraptured, Butters watched Kenny’s head loll listlessly as his friend took a swig from a murky liquor bottle. The rest of his limbs moved slowly, weak and loose like an old, abused rag doll. His cobalt-blue eyes were heavily lidded: red, raw, and glassy.

Grimacing at the knot tightening in his chest, Butters scanned the debris orbiting Kenny’s slumped figure. The more his eyes roved around the room, the more Butters grew painfully aware of the sinking pit of dread gnawing at his stomach.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

Across from Kenny, a notched hatchet was lodged in the wall, bisecting a mangled photograph. Butters squinted. He was barely able to make out two figures that – to his dismay – looked like Kenny’s parents. Butters shifted his gaze back to Kenny. Uneasiness swelled in his chest. A rusty hacksaw was stuck into a wooden slat of the bed a few inches from the his friend's head. Butters' apprehensive eyes traveled over to a shotgun that was propped up against the bed to Kenny’s side. But the pièce de résistance of the sickening display was a solitary grenade resting next to Kenny’s foot and there were two grenade pins lying nearby. Butters’ eyes widened in further horror and confusion.

Completing the macabre scene was a various selection of bloody knives stuck into the ground around Kenny like little stainless steel gravestones.

Butters felt a shiver run down his spine.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

He could feel the gears in his brain turning rapidly, but his mind remained unsettlingly blank.

_Click._

Butters’ head snapped back to where Kenny was sitting, yanked out of his shock-induced stupor. While the pale boy had been struggling to process the disturbing scene around him, Kenny had swapped his liquor bottle for a dingy, rust-colored revolver.

Kenny languidly spun the barrel, his dull blue eyes watching it turn, unblinking. He brought the gun to his temple and made a soft “pew” sound with his mouth. Kenny chuckled.

 

Then casually cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. Skip.

_Click._

The metallic empty sound reverberated through the room. Kenny made a small “tsk” noise of disappointment at the gun in his hand. Butters stared in horror.

Kenny only laughed harder.

Butters let out a small choking noise. The other boy's eyes flickered over toward the unexpected interjection. Seeing Butters, his smile faded a bit.

"What's up Buttercup?" Kenny looked up at his friend with a sad smile, lackadaisically twirling the pistol around his index finger. “Sleep though your alarm?”

Butters’ brows immediately furrowed. There it was again. That nagging feeling that there was something he was missing. He just couldn’t shake it.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

The bedframe creaked as Kenny leaned back, a tired sigh escaping his lips. “Oh why do you keep doing this to me Leo?”

He couldn’t see Kenny’s face, but Butters could have sworn the other boy almost sounded like he was about to cry. Shaking his head in frustration, Butters let his gaze fall. His thoughts were moving a million miles an hour. Something wasn’t right.

But what?

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

“Go home Butters.”

The pale blonde flinched at the words but didn’t dare to look up.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

There it was again.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

Butters rubbed his eyes in distress. What was wrong with him?

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

“Leo, please.”

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

Kenny’s voice was definitely shaking.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

Feeling his own trembling, Butters continued to stare down silently at his feet.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

He could hear it in his friend’s voice: there was an exhausted… brokenness that seemed to weigh down Kenny’s entire being.

But Butters' eyes remained downcast.

He didn’t know if he could shoulder the additional weight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The title sounds stupid when I say it out loud, but I got it from a song I was listening to that kind of inspired this fic - and I can just imagine Butters saying it with his stupid cute voice of his just, gah. So anyway it's gonna have to do for now.]


	4. Pause.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue is hard.

Kenny let out a long sigh and set down the revolver. He thoughtfully scanned the array of knives surrounding him, fingers dancing between the handles. He deftly plucked one out of the ground. Kenny leaned back against the bed again, picking at his fingernails with the tip of the knife, looking up at Butters languidly. After a moment, he said, “You’re a good person Butters. Too good.”

At this Butters finally looked up, blinking at the other boy quizzically.

“You should just cut your losses early and stay away from me dude.” His friend’s troubled eyes lingered on Butters' own for a moment, then gravitated back down to the knife.

“I-I… I don’t really understand what you’re tryin’ t’get at Kenny…” There was a growing desperation in Butters’ voice as he eyed the steel winking in Kenny’s fingers as the other boy casually twirled it in his hands.

Kenny abruptly flicked his wrist, the blade gleaming. “I’m a magnet for bad shit.” He watched the blood run down his finger with an ineffable expression. “And you’ve got enough of that as is.” Kenny paused, a frown marring his handsome face. “I couldn’t live with myself if I kept contributing to that.” There was a deep bitterness in the other boy's voice. Kenny frowned deeper, silently turning the knife over in his hands. His stare bored into the burnished metal. Kenny’s lips curled into a faint snarl at the lusterless cobalt-blue eyes staring back at him. He ran his bloody thumb across the flat of the knife, smudging the mirrored surface, obscuring the offending reflection.

Butters stared mutely at Kenny. His tongue floundered around uselessly in his mouth like a dying fish – struggling to find breath, let alone words. His head was too full. Full of too much  _useless shit_. Butters wanted to tear it all out of his skull, piece by piece, so he could finally have at least some sort of chance of finding whatever in the hell his gut was screaming so desperately at him to locate in his stupid little quagmire of a brain.

His head ached. He was exhausted. But there was something about the look on Kenny’s face that moved Butters. He felt like his ribcage was caving in – heart resting impossibly heavy in his chest. Butters hesitated for a moment before finally breaking the silence.

“Ya know, you were my f-first real friend Kenny.” His voice was small, but unexpectedly steady. Kenny’s face twitched.

“Well, when I m-moved on down to South Park, everybody already kinda h-had their own lil groups. And, well… I know imma bit of a w-weirdo, so it don’t bother me hardly at all or nuthin’ like that.”

Kenny’s slightly raised brow indicated that he was listening, but he gave no further encouragement for Butters to continue or elaborate.

Butters took a deep breath. He was on his own for this one.

“And ya know me Ken, I k-kinda just went on ahead and accepted it cuz I think everybody here in South Park is p-pretty neat in their own way.” Kenny snorted. “But I think you’re the neatest of all!” Butters sputtered out quickly.

The pale boy felt his cheeks flush, suddenly embarrassed by his own enthusiasm.

Kenny’s freckled face betrayed the faintest hint of one of the corners of his mouth upturning into what Butters was sure were the beginnings of a small smile before he hung his head, golden-blonde hair veiling his face.

Nevertheless, Butters continued on.

“I mean it! Anybody can see that ya got dealt pretty d-darn crummy hand in life... But you are still super friendly with everybody. Even Cartman! Though he makes fun of ya for being poor pretty much 24/7... And I know you like gettin’ drunk and doin’ a lotta drugs…” Kenny winced. Butters quickly continued, “B-but you do most of your homework a-a-and ya come to school enough to at least keep m-m-movin’ on to the next grade with all your buddies!” Butters felt his heart racing, the words tumbling out of his mouth more and more rapidly. “And ya ain’t afraid t'speak your mind – even if it makes people awful sore. And you’re also always helpin’ people out even if they don’t deserve a single d-darn heck of it!”

Butters knew he was rambling, but the boy knew that if he stopped now, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to start again...and he didn’t want to even think about what would come next if that happened, so he just kept talking. “A-And you’ve always t-treated your lil sister like a princess!” Butters said. There was a new softness in his voice. “And – heck – I can’t even begin to imagine it - bein’ someone’s own p-p-personal super hero…” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d have to take a leaf out of Tweek’s book and say the whole thing would be way t-too much pressure!”

Kenny’s face remained downcast, his expression still unreadable.

Butters pressed his lips together, mind whirling. “B-b-but you – you’re always great!” He sputtered after a thoughtful pause. Butters shook his head emphatically in response to the incredulous look that appeared on Kenny’s face. “Seriously! I’ve seent it! Ya always have a snarky comeback or some kinda witty joke up the sleeve of your parka!" He chuckled half-heartedly. "I wish I had that kinda confidence... B-by golly, even all the adults let ya do your own thing!”

Kenny raised an eyebrow.

“There are a lotta great things about ya. So… you can add me t’the list of p-people who admire ya." ” Butters trailed off, suddenly bashful. "You’re my own p-personal super hero too.” Butters said softly, his cheeks flaming, mortified by the realization of the intimacy of what he had just confessed. “Well, I m-mean, if it’s okay for me to think that…” Butters stammered.

He watched the other boy's downcast head apprehensively. What little Butters could see of Kenny’s expression was an inconclusive amalgamation of stunted emotions.

 

Neither spoke for several minutes.

 

Eventually, Kenny broke the silence.

“Every superhero has their weaknesses.” He said flatly.

“B-b-but…” Butters fumbled. Just as easily as the words had been flowing mere moments earlier, they now stuck fast in his throat.

“And I’m sorry Leo... I’m so sorry…” Kenny leaned back and closed his eyes, his face pained. “…but you’re gonna have to find another superhero…” The other boy slowly raised his head slightly to look up at Butters, a harrowed look in his eyes. “I…” His voice cracked. “…I think mine finally got the best of me…”

Kenny let out a small choking noise. He covered his face with his hands, his body shaking silently.

Butters’ blood went cold, like ice; and like a crack through it, the despair in his friend’s voice broke him.

His heart physically hurt.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

The ugly mantra thrummed through Butters' head, tempo increasing in time with his frantic heartbeat.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

Butters floundered, eyes darting around the room in a frenzied search for something – anything – to do or say.

 “Well, it’s about that time again.” Kenny slapped his hands on his knees, sitting up with a loud sigh. Butters’ eyes flicked back to his friend, but the other boy was already lost in his own musings.

 “Hmm… what’s it gonna be this time?” Kenny put a hand to his chin thoughtfully, humming softly to himself.

Paralyzed, all Butters could do was watch his friend scan the assortment of potentially deadly objects splayed around the room.

After a moment of contemplation, Kenny made his choice.

“Might as well go back to the good old revolver.” He tossed the gun from one hand to another, feeling the weight. “Good memories.” Kenny paused. “Too bad I’m the only one who gets to remember them.” He chuckled darkly to himself.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

All Butters could hear was the clicking of bullets being loaded into the chamber.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

He winced at the unbridled pounding in his chest.

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

Butters wrenched his eyes shut. His head was throbbing. 

    _What couldn’t he remember? Why couldn’t he remember?_

What in the hell was he missing? 

_What can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?_

Butters felt like he was repeatedly hitting his head against a brick wall. He let out a frustrated cry, opening his eyes. 

There was Kenny, rusty barrel of the revolver pressed against his temple. Panic exploded in Butters’ chest, knowing this time that it was fully loaded.

Kenny smiled up at Butters. A sad, heart-crushing smile.

“See ya in a bit Buttercup.”

 

Butters felt something deep in his chest break.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of trouble making Butters' speech sound authentic (at least, in my opinion).  
> Time to go rewatch South Park :)


	5. Repeat, Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.

“…Kenny?”

The door slowly creaked open. A golden-blonde mess of hair shimmered in the warm afternoon light streaming through the tattered curtains. The head across the room snapped up in response to the intrusion.

Butters gasped, involuntarily raising a hand to his mouth in disbelief.

Blood. Weapons. A revolver in Kenny’s hand.

As he met Butters’ eyes, a look of shame flashed briefly across Kenny’s face – reluctantly acknowledging that he now had a witness to the pitiful scene surrounding him. Kenny quickly shifted his gaze away from the other boy, his expression darkening.

Butters took a tentative step further into the room. “Oh golly…Kenny…what…” He trailed off, baby-blue eyes wide as he looked around the room.

Kenny ignored him, gaze fixed intently on an arbitrary spot on the carpet; elbow propped up on his knee, pressing the end of the revolver barrel into the hollow of his cheek indifferently.

Butters knew he should say something, but he was at a loss for words.

The silence hung heavy in the room.

 

Kenny’s eyes eventually flickered back to the other boy. “Pardon my French, but what in the ever flying fuck are you doing here Butters?” Kenny slowly shook his head as he reached behind him under the bed, pulling out a box of ammunition. He proceeded to load the revolver, a dark haze descended over his face.

Scanning the room warily, Butters stammered, “Aww gee Ken... what in the heck is goin’ on here?”

Kenny gave him a blank look. “Karen’s fucking dead. Didn’t you hear? My parents fucking killed her.”

Butters’ stomach dropped. “I-I heard it was an a-a-accident…” He said slowly without much confidence.

Kenny huffed. “Well they might as well have dealt the fatal blow as far as I’m concerned.”

Butters winced at the sound of the bullets clicking as Kenny continued to load the chamber. “Well, I k-know you’re awful sore about the situation, b-b-but they’re still your family Kenny…” He trailed off again, looking down at his feet.

Kenny looked up at Butters with the same blank look.

“I have no family.” He said with a sense of finality in his deadpan voice. Breaking eye contact, Kenny spun the barrel of the revolver and shut it with a deafening click.

Butters shuffled his feet, immediately regretting the act as a few drops of crimson landed on his shoes. He silently watched them seep into the canvas. Kenny continued to gaze at the gun apathetically.

 

The following silence was almost painfully awkward.

 

“So, uh…whatcha up to Ken?”

Kenny’s blank look turned to one of mild shock, then confusion, before finally morphing into bitter amusement. He snorted. “Holy hell Leopold you sure are a special kind of something.” He said incredulously, mostly to himself. However, the moment quickly passed and his face slowly reverted back to his previous state of indifference.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Kenny cocked the hammer of the revolver, looking Butters dead in the eye.

“Well shucks... In all honestly Ken, I’m not entirely sure whatcha got goin’ on here.” Butters let out a concerned whimper. “There’s a lotta awfully confusin’ stuff in your room right now...” He warily eyed the grenade.

Kenny’s expression softened slightly. “Well, I’ve told pretty much everyone in town this at least once –  _at least_. I suppose there’s no harm in telling it again.” He sighed.

There was a long pause.

“W-what are ya talkin’ about Kenny…?” Butters finally replied uncertainly.

Kenny brushed off the question.

 

“I can’t die.”

 

A different kind of shock than when he had initially entered the room passed across Butters’ face.

Kenny leaned forward, his eyes boring into Butters’ baby-blue ones. “I’m being serious, I really, really can’t die.”

Butters’ brows furrowed together. “When…”

“All the time! I die all the time! And all of the assholes in this town never remember!” Butters could only watch, slack-jawed, as Kenny gestured wildly around the room, the revolver still in his hand. “And on top of that, no one ever believes me! It’s always ‘I think we would have remembered you dying, dude’ – well they don’t!” Kenny turned on his heel, whirling around to face Butters. “Do you know what it feels like to be stabbed? To be shot, decapitated, torn apart, burned, run over – it fucking hurts!” He snarled.

Butters flinched. He had never heard Kenny genuinely angry until now.

Kenny threw back his head, raising his hands to tear mercilessly at his matted hair. “I die over and over. Only to wake up in my bed like nothing happened. It won’t go away and nobody will believe me!”

Hearing the despair creeping into his friend's voice, Butters felt something in his chest crumple.

Kenny looked up at the other boy with wild eyes, his composure faltering. “God, I even shot myself in front of everyone! Kyle, Stan, Clyde, Token…” He paused, breathing labored. “You weren’t here for this since you were off doing your Professor Chaos thing – yeah I know about that too.”

Butters closed his mouth as soon as he opened it to protest. 

“And by the way I know you were just using it as a figure of speech earlier but I am an actual superhero. Yeah, I’m Mysterion, dummy. Oh don’t look at me like that.”

Once again, Butters snapped his mouth shut.  _How does Kenny know all of this stuff…?_

“I know there’s never any point in telling you guys… but I…” Kenny’s voice faltered. He looked down at the revolver in his hand. The fire that had been in his eyes during his impassioned speech faded.

 

"They always forget.” Kenny muttered. His voice was filled with a bitterness that chilled Butters to the bone. “Everyone always forgets.”

 

Kenny looked Butters dead in the eyes, put the gun to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

_Bang._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I nabbed some of Kenny's "I can't die" monologue from Season 14 Episode 12 of South Park "Mysterion Rises". All rights go to Matt Stone and Trey Parker no copyright strike pls and thank]


	6. And Again...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You might want to skip this chapter if you don't like gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously.
> 
> This chapter is fairly graphic.
> 
> Just gonna put that out there.

Kenny died.

He died and came back to life.

Then he died again.

And again.

And again.

And again…

 

~ ~ ~

 

Sometimes he chatted casually with Butters for a bit before offing himself. Other times he just got straight to business.

Sometimes he died in Butters’ arms. Other times Butters had just barely opened the door as he watched the life leave Kenny’s eyes. Still other times – the worst times – Butters was merely greeted by... a mess.

With each death, Butters watched Kenny break a little more.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Kenny looked at Butters for a long moment. Expressionless, he took the long, thin knife in his hand and slit his throat in one fluid motion. Kenny sputtered, mouth wet and red. Blood spurted from the wound as his heart unwittingly pumped the lifeblood out of his body. By the time Butters reached him, Kenny was dead.

 

~ ~ ~

 

A ribbon of drool trickled down the dark metal of the shotgun barrel. In that split second, as he met Butters’ eyes, Kenny had a look as if to say,  _“Come on dude, I didn’t want you to see this one.”_  But that didn't stop him from pulling the trigger. Butters winced at the sound of his friend’s brain splattering across the wall.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The rusty hacksaw lay in a limp hand, framed by a wreath of bloody fingertips. Several jagged cuts across Kenny’s wrists still dripped red, eventually coalescing into the crimson streams trickling down his arms. But the other boy could see that his friend's eyes were empty. Butters closed the door.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Ignoring his friend’s cry of dismay, Kenny swung the hatchet down toward his thigh. A violent spray of deep red peppered his cheek. Knowing the blade had hit its mark, a maniacal smile crept across Kenny's face. Butters fell to his knees, desperately applying pressure to the wound; but he knew it was too late. The boy watched Kenny exhale one last time, that nauseating grin still glued to his freckled face. Butters gazed down at his blood-drenched hands. He was always too late.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Before Butters could even open the door, a sudden sickeningly wet sounding explosion shook the hall. He winced. That was one of the ones where Butters didn’t even bother opening the door.

 

~ ~ ~

 

And then there was the revolver. That damn revolver.

 

 _Bang._  Again.  _Bang._  Again.  _Bang._  Again.

 

_Bang._

 

 

 

And again… **  
**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [real talk: this was one of my favorite chapters to write]


	7. You're Gonna Make It Through This.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ ~ ~ I'm just gonna go ahead and apologize for baiting y'all into thinking there's an actual new chapter. Well, technically there is a *new* chapter, but what I actually did was I broke up Chapter 2 into two parts (the suspense I wanted just wasn't there).
> 
> BUT: I have the rest of Chapter 7 AND Chapter 8 all blocked out, so I promise I'll make it up to you soon! =.= ~ ~ ~
> 
> ***jk one of the assholes I live with got the whole fucking house sick so imma be outta commission for a while***

All at once everything came rushing back to Butters.

The brick wall in his mind crumbled. Partially blinded by the fictional mixture of sweat, tears, and blood, he stumbled forward into a bright, blinding light.

_He remembered._

“No!” A strangled sob tore itself violently from Butters’ throat. He immediately scrambled forward, launching himself at Kenny.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Butters threw his arms around Kenny’s neck, knocking the barrel away from the other boy's head. “No! Not again!”

Kenny’s wrist hit the floor, the gun tumbling out of his loosened grip. His hand lay limp by his side. Kenny stared at it, bewildered.

“No! No! No! No! No! No! No!” Butters shouted repeatedly, pounding his fists against Kenny’s chest emphatically with every word. “Don’t kill Kenny...” Tears were streaming down Butters’ face. He looked up at Kenny with wet, harrowing eyes. “You bastard.”

Kenny continued to stare at his open palm, a series of emotions too rapid to follow flickering across his face.

Butters let out a long breath. The adrenaline from his outburst had worn off. He allowed his forehead to fall, thumping lightly against Kenny’s chest.

Kenny was a statue: frozen in place, looking down at the pale blonde head resting against him. He felt Butter’s silent tears trickle down his bare skin.

 

Something deep in Kenny's chest imploded and he burst into tears.

"She’s gone! Oh my god she’s fucking gone Butters and I don’t know what to do!” Kenny wailed. “Why? Fucking fucking fucking why?” All of the pent up emotions he had been suppressing exploded forcefully out of him like a torrent water surging from a broken dam. “My chest… oh god Butters, every breath hurts. It hurts so fucking bad.” Kenny’s whole body shook violently with each wave. “I want to die! I just wanted to die!" Kenny deflated, still sobbing. "Why couldn’t you let me die?” 

Butters knew Kenny wasn’t talking to him anymore.

“I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them!” Kenny howled – his cry piercing the air: a frequency of pure, unfiltered sorrow that Butters knew all too well.

Butters held him as he cried: ugly and loud.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Butters’ own tears now feel freely. Kenny had been suffering all by himself for so long. “I can’t believe you’ve been havin’ t’go through this all by yourself...” He no longer attempted to stifle his little hiccuping sobs. “I am so sorry Kenny. I am so, so sorry.”

He felt the other boy shaking his head against his chest. “No, no, no, no, no….” Kenny’s voice was so small and feeble. It broke Butters’ heart.

“Yes, you dummy.” Butters said softly.

Kenny was genuinely bewildered by Butters’ words, having lived his life in blatant refusal to accept even the mere concept that his existence was of any significant value. As much as he wanted to, Kenny couldn’t ignore the sincerity in his friend's voice: Butters thought he was worth something. Kenny’s breathing became increasingly rapid as he struggled to process this. His chest heaved, desperate gasps ragged. “Wh-wh-why me?” He barely managed to sputter out between sobs.

“Because I love you, stupid!” Butters cried out without any hesitation, tightening his grip around Kenny’s neck.

 

Kenny just sobbed harder.

 

Butters pulled back slightly and lifted his head up, his baby-blue eyes meeting Kenny’s cobalt-blue ones. “Now you listen here, Kenneth McCormick.” Butters stated sternly. He sniffled, wiping the back of his hand across his dripping nose. “You deserve good things.”

Kenny opened his mouth to protest.

“No!” Butters snapped. “You shut up!”

For a moment, Kenny stilled, stunned by the usually easy-going Butters’ sudden aggressiveness.

“You were my first real friend Kenny. And, by golly, I’ll never forget all the great stuff you’ve done for me.” Butters jabbed a finger emphatically into Kenny’s chest. “So shut the fuck up and accept the fact that you’re a good person who is worthy of bein' loved and cared about!” Breathing heavily, Butters slowly laid his palm to rest against Kenny’s chest. After a moment, he spoke again, this time softer. “And I-I-I’m one of those people.” Butters’ face flushed slightly, suddenly shy.

Kenny stared at Butters, his tear-stained face completely and utterly defenseless, cobalt-blue eyes filled with trepidation and fear. “What if you forget again…” His voice was choked and raw.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I care about you.” Butters stated plainly, shrugging. A calm determination had swept over him.

Eyes welling up once again, Kenny leaned forward and returned Butters’ embrace, wrapping his arms around the other boy. “Thank you.” He whispered after a moment, face pressed into the crook of the pale blonde’s neck.

Butters smiled against Kenny’s golden hair. “You’re not alone anymore.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I KNOW THE "DON'T KILL KENNY YOU BASTARD" IS SUCH A DUMB LINE BUT i COULDN'T HELP MYSELFFFF**


	8. I Just Know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it ain't much, but I finally got a new chapter for y'all :')

They stayed like that for a while: embraced, chests rising and falling in sync as they breathed softly. Butters shifted his weight, realizing his knees were uncomfortably damp. He glanced down, noticing the red creeping up from the seat Kenny’s jeans. Butters grimaced, he had been kneeling in the blood-soaked carpet for a while.

“Hey, Ken…” Butters whispered. He felt the other boy sigh against his collarbone. Butters nuzzled Kenny’s head in response, the golden-blonde hair tickling his nose. “Sorry, I just kinda realized that we’re sittin’ in a big ol’ puddle of blood…”

Kenny raised his head and leaned back slightly, looking around them. “Well, shit.” 

Butters let out a bemused chuckle, “Alrighty, let’s get ya outta those blood-soaked pants.”

Kenny didn’t even bother attempting to suppress a snicker.

Butters stared at the other boy blankly for a moment. He suddenly clamped his hands over his mouth, turning red as a tomato. “Oh great Jesus, son of Mary, wife of Joseph I didn’t mean it like that!” Butters sputtered in a panic.

Kenny couldn’t help but laugh, “Hey, Butters, it’s okay.”

 “Oh sweet Joseph husband to Mary but not father of sweet Jesus. Oh sweet Jesus, Mary mother of Jesus wife of Joseph father to Mary.” Butters was in a full-blown meltdown, hyperventilating.

Still slightly chuckling, Kenny grabbed his friend's face, gripping it tightly in his hands. “Butters!” The other boy stared back at him with apprehensive, frantic eyes. Kenny ran a thumb along the flushed skin of his cheek. “Leo…” He swallowed thickly, biting the inside of his cheek.

Butters’ eyes fluttered. He felt his heart skip a beat. His chest throbbed.

Kenny gulped. Letting go of Butters’ face, Kenny cleared his throat awkwardly, the tips of his ears reddening. He slumped against the bed, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that before.” He looked over at Butters.

The other boy tilted his head slightly, a soft, sad smile on his face. “I think it’s good t’express your feelings every once in a w-while.” He wiped at Kenny’s still damp cheeks with the edges of his sleeves.

“Darn. There goes my bad-boy reputation.” Kenny sighed dramatically, “What will the other guys think of me now?”

Butters’ forehead suddenly creased in concern. “Oh, hamburgers! I didn’t even think about that!” He lurched forward, leaning in intently. “I promise I ain’t gonna tell anyone! I super-duper pinky swear on my life!” Kenny instinctively retracted slightly, taken aback by the sudden intensity radiating from the other boy.

“If by any c-chance anyone does find out, you can… uh…” Butters' baby-blue eyes flickered around the room frantically for a few seconds before coming back to a rest on Kenny. “You can hit me all ya want!”

Kenny stared at Butters blankly, unsure if he should be taking the other boy seriously.

But Butters nodded his head emphatically. “I’m serious! You can go on ahead and beat me up as much as ya want! It don’t really matter where ya wanna punch me. My dad ain’t particularly discriminatory when he's had a few drinks.” A wave of growing unease swept over Kenny. The other boy shook his head. “D-don’t worry, I’m used to it! The blood h-hardly bothers me anymore.” Butters winced slightly at the memory but he let out a little tinkling laugh. Kenny’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Honestly, my ribs are still awful sore…” Butters' expression turned slightly sheepish, “B-b-but ya don’t have to hold back or nuthin’! I can take it!”

Kenny just stared at the other boy, dumbfounded. Butters had been staring earnestly at him throughout all of this.

“Here, you can hit me right now! Just in case!” Kenny felt a pang go through his chest as he watched Butters shut his eyes, bracing himself for the expectant blow.

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down.” Kenny shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he scrunched his eyes shut. “Why in the hell would you think that I’d want to beat the shit out of you?”

Butters slowly opened his eyes, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. “Ain’t that how ya supposed to make it up to somebody when ya’ve done somethin’ wrong?”

Kenny could barely believe his ears. “…What? But… dude, you didn’t do anything wrong…”

“My dad says it’s good t’keep me in my place.” Butters said slowly, still looking at the other boy quizzically.

 _Preemptive punishment? What an absolute load of archaic bullshit._ Kenny thought, shaking his head incredulously. “Wait a sec.” Kenny sighed. “So let me get this straight: you’re telling me your dad kicks the crap out of you?” Butters nodded. “On a regular basis?” Another nod. “Even when you haven’t even done anything?” Again, the other boy sheepishly nodded in agreement.

Kenny stared silently at Butters for a moment. “Dude. That’s kinda fucked up.”

“Speak for yourself.” Butters grumbled, gesturing around him.

Kenny glanced around the room at the carnage surrounding them. He winced slightly. “Touché.” He said, letting out an abashed, barking laugh.

Flashing his friend a toothy grin, Kenny braced his hands on the bed behind him and hopped up. He looked around briefly, grimacing. Kenny looked back apologetically at Butters. “I’ll clean up later.”

Butters sighed and shook his head, a bemused chuckle escaping his lips.   

Kenny extended a hand out toward Butters, “Let’s get you out of those blood-soaked pants.” He said mockingly with a wink.

Butters flushed slightly. He took Kenny's outstretched hand and rose to his feet. Butters squeezed his hand and - with a smirk of his own - whispered in the other boy’s ear, “Maybe if you say 'please.'”

Kenny’s jaw dropped. Butters’ face turned an even deeper scarlet as he quickly turned away from the other boy. Mouth still dangling open - half in disbelief, half in excitement - Kenny wordlessly followed Butters out of the room, hands still clasped together.

 

The door shut gently behind them with a soft click.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bah. I am having so much trouble with writing Butters lines. These most recent chapters and the next few are fairly dialogue-heavy, so I've been struggling with that and - in all honesty - I'm not too thrilled with their quality (or lack thereof) but I suppose I figure it out eventually.]

**Author's Note:**

> ~~ Woo I feel a lot better after taking a step back then going through the chapters again. For those of you who witnessed the evolution of this hot mess, thank you for sticking around. I'm a perfectionist so I know I'm never going to be completely happy with it, but I am pleased with the way it's cleaning up. ~~
> 
> I am so glad this site doesn't keep track of how many times a post has been edited.


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